Sur Cette Nuit
by Aerenii
Summary: Richard/OC   Not much by way of plot. Mature content aplenty though.  They finally added Richard to the character list!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Not exactly a chapter story...but way too long to post in one doc. Here's the first part. Gotta finish tweaking the rest, see if I can cut it down some.**

_**June, 1921 Atlantic City, New Jersey**_

Summer was setting in on Atlantic City, bringing with it the usual beach-bound influx of tourists. But this early June day brought with it the Paris Ballet, on their second to last stop on their American tour.

Mayor Edward Bader had arranged a dinner in their honor, at the insistence of Jimmy Darmody. Not that Jimmy gave two figs and a fuck for the ballet. He needed a place to meet with a man named Maurice Le Marche. In addition to being the accountant for the ballet, Monsieur Le Marche also exported cognac, and had gotten word to Jimmy that a deal could be possible.

Babette's was bustling. Richard stood behind Jimmy in one of the private rooms upstairs, but he could still hear the festivities through the closed doors. He wasn't paying much attention to what Jimmy and Le Marche were discussing. His attention was focused instead on the surroundings, alert for the slightest disturbance that might mean trouble.

So when a knock came on the door, Richard's hand immediately went to his gun, ready to draw at a moment's notice.

"Come in," Jimmy called. The door slowly opened and a young woman entered. "Excusez-moi, messieurs," she said with a brief glance in Jimmy and Richard's direction. "Monsieur Le Marche, un petit mot s'il vous plaît?" She crossed the room to his chair and knelt in front of him. Their conversation, held in French, was rapid, and Le Marche put an end to it with a firm 'Non!'. The woman lowered her head briefly, then rose to her feet with a grace that spoke of years of training. She murmured something more to Le Marche, then turned to Jimmy and Richard, said 'Bon soir, messieurs' and quickly made her way from the room.

Richard had turned his face so that all she would see was his mask, his heart doing a strange, uncomfortable flutter behind his ribs. Had she recognized him? Why would she? One day, almost three years ago...he doubted she would even remember it. Obviously things had gone quiet well for her, the ballet had gotten her out of Paris at least, and she was hopefully seeing those things she'd always wanted to see.

Richard spent the remainder of the meeting lost in memory of a day long gone, a day that, after his injury, he hadn't known to be real, or a figment of his shocked, injured, morphine hazed mind. Well, obviously it had been real. Simonne Delacroix walking into this room was obviously proof of that. Which made his harsh reality that much more unbearable. If she _had _recognized him...but no, she couldn't have. She had barely glanced this way as it was, and Richard had turned his face as soon as he saw her, presenting the emotionless mask that hid him from the world.

Jimmy and Le Marche concluded their meeting on good terms, and moved out into the party to mingle. Richard stayed upstairs, finding a quiet, shadowed corner from where he could see the party without being seen. He scanned the crowd below, looking for Simonne, just wanting one more glimpse of her to carry with him this night, and beyond.

The crowd below was a mix of dark suit and shimmery dresses, hair pomaded to a high gloss and artfully pinned coifs. He searched each face for Simonne, but he couldn't spot her. He wondered if she had left? Perhaps that was the discussion she had with Le Marche?

"Ze shy man, he can not enjoy ze party alone."

Richard tensed. So intent had he been on looking for her that he failed to notice her walking up beside him. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, not wanting to fully face her, not wanting her to know...

"You are not recognizing me, mon chér?" she asked softly.

"No, ma'am," he said, his shyness and nervousness compounding to near terror. "I, mm. Recognize you."

"Oh, _Ree-shard!"_ He felt that flutter again as she said his name. "You are not back to ze 'ma'am' again? Did we not get beyond zis?"

He turned and fully looked at her, his gaze catching her eyes and holding them.

"How can, mm. You act as if...nothing. Mm. Has changed?"

"Ah, but everyzing has changed, mon chér. Now it is moi who is in ze strange city, lost and...perplexed yet fascinated by it all...and very much in need of a friend."

Richard clenched his jaw and looked away from her.

"I. Mm... can't...be a friend."

"Pourquoi pas?" she asked. "Why can you not be a friend? Is zere some law against it?"

"Look. At me," he said.

"I am trying, mon chér. Mais, you keep looking away."

He faced her, watching her face and waiting for either the usual horror or pity to set in. She regarded him calmly for a long minute, then said

"It is un peu...asymmetrical, I zink is ze word. And ze glass, it is cracked. Ze colouring is..hmm...not quite right. Mais, zey did a good job of capturing your likeness." He blinked at her, stunned. "That's. It? Mm, that's...all you have. To say?"

"Your would prefer zat I shriek in terror? Or, perhaps you would like me to do as zey," she waved her hand to a cluster of ballerinas below "did when we saw you walk into ze room with Monsieur Le Marche, and go 'Oh le Fantom!'And zen makes ze giggling sound behind ze hand...te he te he" She raised her hand to mimic."But moi... I am not zat...silly. Also, I seem to recall you saying zat you had ze musical ability of ze milk pail, oui?"

Richard looked at her in shock. She was acting the same as she had the day they first met, as if he were still the same lost soldier gawking at the scenery. Couldn't she see the truth of him? No, he did not have the genius of the Phantom of the Opera that her friends compared him to, but he was just as tortured and grotesque.

And then, he realized something. "You didn't...seemed surprised...about, mm. My face."

"Because I was not," she admitted. "Your sister and I, we have exchanged ze letters for some time now. She sent me a zank you for sending ze gift you had bought her. I wrote a reply,and soon we were writing back and forth. And zen, she wrote me of your injury." Simonne paused, then said in a quiet voice. "I wrote you a letter, mon chér. Emma said you would not read it, alzough she could not say why..."

Richard shifted uncomfortably. So many reasons he hadn't read it, and none of them sounded like good reasons with her standing right in front of him. "I. Just...couldn't," was all he would offer by way of explanation.

"Oh, I could understand ze first few months. Even ze first year. But, Monsieur _Air-oh..._" Richard swallowed hard. He had forgotten how wonderful his last name sounded when she spoke it. "..it has been how many years?" she asked, and waited for him to answer.

"Two," he mumbled in the direction of his shoes.

"Oui! And in all zat time, you could not take ten minutes to read ze letter and write a short reply?"

How could he explain to her about all those hours he spent in the kitchen, endlessly staring at the sun catchers he had bought for his sister, Simonne's letter in front of him. He would sit and wonder if it had all really happened. He could not clearly remember what he should look like, all he could picture was the way he looked now, ravaged and maimed. Somehow, with the loss of his face, he lost his connection to humanity, the ability to care. It was as if, since he no longer looked like the rest of the world, he could not relate and did not belong.

And so, he could not imagine that what he thought happened that day in Paris was actually real. Why would that lovely kind ballerina want to spend anytime with such a monster?

He would watch the sun sparkle in the tiny bubbles in the colored glass, think of their kiss on the Eiffel Tower. Only his mind twisted it, to where she was kissing his damaged face. She would pull away and open her eyes, and she would scream. So loud, those screams.

"I know why," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "You are lost in self-pity! Oui! C'est vrai! You zink zat ze world will not accept you, and so you have walled yourself away, zinking 'oh poor me! How can zey like me?' I am betting you do not much like yourself." Richard shrunk in on himself. How could she know?

"But mon chér," she said in a softer tone, looping her arm through his. "Ze world, it can not accept you, if you hide away from it. It will move along while you stay in ze shadows. You can not just let life pass you by, _Ree-shard. _You must say to ze world ' 'Allo! I am here. Moi, _Ree-shard Air-oh. _Zis is me. Take me for who I am.' You are a good man, oui?"

Richard was quiet for a long moment. "I...don't know," he answered honestly. Simonne regarded him for a minute, then looked and spotted Le Marche with the blond man Richard had been with. They were talking to some other men Simonne had earlier met and quickly dismissed, and looking quite friendly with one another. She had some inkling of what Le Marche did on the side, and could assume that Richard's friend was in the same line of work, which led her to think Richard was also involved.

"Ah, je vois. Anyway, mon chér, what it is zat I am saying is zat, despite how scary ze world seems, you have to make yourself a part of it. If you just watch life as it goes by, zen you miss ze joy of it. You want companionship, oui?" Richard nodded. "Well, you can not find friends to play with if you do not leave ze house, now can you?" Again Richard nodded. He felt like he did when he used to get scolded for eating too many cookies and making himself sick to his stomach. "Of course, ze shyness you have will not help. Well, we shall just have to work on zat tonight. You will show me ze city, you will not be shy with me, and all will be très magnifique. Now, I have absolutely no idea where we are going, so perhaps you should lead, mon chér."

Richard realized that she had managed to lead him down stairs and outside while she'd been talking to him, and he hadn't even noticed. He looked at her, the corner of his mouth quirked into a small smile in spite of himself. She looked at him, her eyebrows slightly raised, waiting for him to say something. He looked at the door's to Babette's, then at Simonne.

"How do you...Mm, do it?" he asked, slightly adjusting her grip on his arm and walking with her at his side once again.

"Do what, mon chér?"

"Manage to...make me forget. Mm, how I am. In. Paris is was. Mm, my shyness. Now it's...everything."

"Oh, it is because I am such a wonderful person zat to be with me distracts you," she said with a touch of mock self-importance. Richard knew she didn't actually believe what she said, but he also understood there was some truth to her words. She was one of those people that, to just be around her, made you feel better. He couldn't explain it beyond that, but he was very grateful that she was near. With her at his side he could almost imagine...

"You are doing it again, mon chér."

"Mm...doing what?"

"Getting into zat 'woe is me' mood. I am right?"

Richard nodded.

"Well, stop it," she said as she poked him in the ribs. He gave a surprised squeal,in truth it was more a deep, raspy grunt than anything. "I am serious, _Ree-shard, _you must stop feeling so..so...I do not know ze word! You are alive, mon chér! Zat is more zan so many ozers can say, non? I am sure it can not be easy for you, and I am sure zat zere are some...ah, stupid people, who will make you feel...horrible, for ze way you look, but zey should be paid no mind. Zey are small people...zey, zey do not feel comfortable with who zey are zemselves, and so to feel better, zey...belittle?...zose around zem. I am making sense?" Richard nodded. She was making perfect sense.

They were standing at the rail of the boardwalk, gazing out over the ocean. A storm was brewing out there, the lightning flashing and lighting the rugged white capped waves. He listened to her strangely insightful life lessons, amazed that this woman who was all but a stranger could understand what he was going through enough to give insight on how he should deal with humanity.

Richard felt a strange peace in her presence. He couldn't explain it, really, but it was almost as if life was normal. Or if not normal, then it was like anything was possible. "Do you ever. Mm..."

"Stop ze talking?" she interjected with a smile.

"Not what...I was. Mm. Going to say. Although...you do. Mm. Chatter. A lot." He smiled as best he could to show he was joking. It was a smile that reached his eye, Simonne was glad to note. She returned his smile and said "I have been told zat I talk in my sleep, also. But, what were you asking?"

"I was going, mm. To ask if you're ever. Mm...not so..." the word eluded him. She had a vibrancy about her, a brightness to her demeanor. He wondered if she was always like that or if she sometimes felt bouts of darkness. But how could he ask her that? Thunder rumbled in the distance and he felt her grip on his arm tighten until the noise had faded to nothing, when her grip relaxed somewhat. She looked back at Richard, waiting for him to finish his thought.

"Would you. Like, mm. To walk out along...the pier?" he asked instead. She nodded and let him lead her along, chattering as they went about nothing truly important but fascinating to Richard none the less. She still lapsed into French occasionally, which Richard still didn't understand but he listened closely anyway. Her voice was melodic to his ears.

He noticed that whenever a clap of thunder sounded, she would tighten her grip on his arm. A particularly loud crash had her pressing closer against him. Not that he minded, although it seemed a cruel sensuous torture to have her so near yet know that nothing would come of it. It would be a memory to think of on a long lonely night. He could imagine slowly undoing her dress and sliding it off...kissing the silky skin of her shoulders, running his hands across her...

"Why are you smiling so, mon chér?" she asked just as his mind started to picture some the interesting, risque things he would never do to her in reality.

"Nothing," he replied, aware that his blush would give away the lie if she noticed it.

"Tell me, mon chér Or I will tickle you."

"I'm not. Ticklish."

"Non?" she asked with a mischievous smile that Richard found terribly endearing.

"No," he replied. He tried to keep a straight face but he could feel the corner of his mouth that worked turning up into a betraying smile. Simonne snuck her fingers to his side, finding that spot just below his ribs that was in truth on of his more ticklish spots. He tried to squirm out of the way, the thing that he thought might pass for laughter building behind the scar tissue in his throat. But when he moved his body to the other side, he found himself under assault from that quarter as well. She was quite adept at digging her fingers into the spots that made him laugh, and he was shocked to hear that sound issuing so freely from his throat. It wasn't necessarily a pleasant sound, he realized, but he felt lighter and, well, happier for it.

When he got his sides protected she moved to his neck and even worse, up under his arms. Laughing hard for the first time in over two years, he tried to evade her nimble little fingers but when he would block one spot she would find another. Finally he managed to catch her hands and pin them behind her back, which wrapped his arms around her and pressed her body against his. She tilted her head to look at him, her tongue darting out quickly to moisten her lips.

He recognized the look on her face, it was the same one that had been on her face nearly three years ago, atop the Eiffel Tour, when she had leaned in and given him his first kiss. Was she about to kiss him again? Oh, he wanted her to. He wanted so much more than a kiss from her. But, she was so lovely, almost ethereal. How could someone so divine ever...

A loud crash of thunder rang out, practically over their heads. Simonne gave a startled shriek and pressed her face into Richard's chest.

"Mm, it's alright," Richard said soothingly, releasing one of her hands and used his free hand to smooth her hair. He could feel her trembling against him.

With that peal of thunder, the rain started, and it was one of those storms that dumps a soaking amount of water in those first few minutes. Simonne kept her face against his chest for a moment, loving the feel of his arms around her and the strength of his body against hers. She could feel the effect she was having on him, it had been quite apparent when he pinned her arms behind her back to keep her from tickling him. She wondered if he would take anything she had said this evening to heart and actually act on his desires. When the thunder had faded Simonne pulled her face from his chest and glanced up at Richard. She could see the conflicting emotions in his eye, desire battling his innate shyness and the uncertainty of acceptance his injury had left him with.

"I am...very wet, mon chér," she said in a husky tone, pressing harder against him. Subtle things like the minute flare of his nostril and the quick jerk of his manhood told Simonne that he had taken that as she had meant it. His reply, while it was what Simonne expected, was not the one she wanted.

"I will, mm. Walk you back. To... your hotel."

"S'il vous plait, non!" she said quickly. "Mon chér, please...I do not want to be alone zis night."

She must be agitated by the storm, he thought. Hadn't she said earlier that she was sharing a room with two of the other girls in the ballet? That she found them annoying and insipid creatures who tended towards giggly narcissism, which was something she could not stand? If she shared a room, then she wouldn't exactly be alone, would she? So why would she say that...

"Oh." Richard murmured as realization finally hit him. "Really?" he asked her, shyly and in disbelief.

"Oui, mon chér. Come, walk and talk. I am not liking ze rain running down my dress." Richard led her toward his boarding house, fighting the near panic that was trying to overwhelm him.

"Let me ask you somezing," Simonne said as they walked. The rain had died down from it's initial drenching downpour, but it was still coming down pretty hard, so Richard set a pace that would get them there quickly but not risk her breaking an ankle. "Zat night on ze tower...if I had asked if you wanted to come home with me, what would you have answered?"

"If I. Wanted to? I, mm. Would have said. Yes."

"Would you have? Come home with me, I mean."

"No," he replied honestly, and with a hint of regret. "I... grew up believing. That, mm. The first woman...I would, mm...be with... Would be the woman. I married." He was blushing, he knew. This was a strange thing to admit to a woman he barely knew. But she had a knack for getting him to open up. "My injury. Made me, mm, rethink that. Marriage...isn't likely. I met Jimmy. At a hospital, mm. In Chicago. We were there. To take, mm...a test. They wanted. To know what was. In our heads, mm. So the next soldiers. Could fight better. Mm. They asked...personal questions. Like if you'd. Ever been with a woman. I didn't. Mm want to answer that. Truthfully, and I'm. Not comfortable, with lying." Not that he hadn't seen Jimmy nearly perfect the art in the months he'd worked for him. "Jimmy and I. Left before we took the test. Mm. We went...to where he lived. And he...introduced me. To Odette. She was a..." He couldn't bring himself to call her a whore, even though that's what she was. He knew it, but still, she had been his first and as most people do, he had put her on a pedestal in his mind, elevating her to almost mythic status

"_Une courtesan?_" Simonne supplied, for which he was grateful. That had a much more dignified ring to it than whore.

"Yes. Thank you. mm. She was a...courtesan. And the only. Woman I've been with." He was silent for a moment, then asked. "Why didn't you? Ask me?"

"I was afraid you would say non. You were so very shy and gentlemanly zat I did not zink you would agree. Also, I did not want for you to zink I was a...a...quel est le mot?...a...floozy?"

Richard knew floozies. Oh, that horrible night when he and Jimmy had gone to hear the Dempsey-Carpentier fight...those girls that came up to Jimmy, having recognized him from a fateful night at Babette's. They would have both loved nothing more than to crawl all over Jimmy right there in the seats, which Richard couldn't help but envy. But Jimmy had told one of them that Richard was with him, and she replied "what the hell, it'll make a great story when I'm older". Richard had tried to take it for what it was worth, just some quick go that would mean nothing beyond the moment. But she hadn't been able to go through with it, and Richard, despite his physical disappointment, was actually glad.

"I would never. Mistake you for, mm. A floozy," he assured Simonne. "You're too...mm. Refined." He left that at that and changed the subject.

"I live. Just ahead," he said. "I feel I, mm. Should apologize. It's very small. And...plain. Mm, probably shabby. Compared to what. You're, mm. Used to."

"Do you zink it matters to me, mon chér?" He shook his head. "Zen do not worry, and do not apologize for zings zat do not need to be apologized for. Zat is ze second rule in ze not being shy." She would have said more, but a car passed by, closer to the curb than was necessary, which resulted in the puddle of water that had gathered in the gutter to splash up and drench Richard and Simonne. They looked at each other, sharing a rueful smile. Richard was about to apologize, but thought Simonne would probably scold him again, so instead he said "We should. Hurry, so we, mm. Don't catch cold." She nodded, and they dashed the rest of the way.

Richard was nervous as he opened the door to his room, but Simonne's presence behind him gave him a boost. He closed the door behind her, then moved to the desk to turn on the small lamp.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here lies some mature content. And, oh...is that a tiny bit of plot I see down there? No, probably not.**

Richard turned around just in time to see Simonne's dress slide down her body into a sodden pile on the floor. Jesus Mary and holy St. Joseph, he though as she delicately stepped over the fabric and walked towards him. The light sparkled in the water drops in her hair and on her skin. She was wearing a black lacy camisole, matching panties and (the thing that truly did Richard in) black stocking that came up to the point where her knee turned into her thigh. A white satin ribbon was woven through the top of each and tied into a neat bow. He tilted his head slightly to adjust his view of her, cursing his lack of depth perception. He had never really watched her move, but she walked with a grace that was as smooth as flowing water. She was lithe, and it was apparent in her scantily clad attire that she spent many hours each day in physical motion. He truly regretted not having a larger room, if only because he would have enjoyed watching her walk more.

As it was in didn't take her very long to cross to him. She stopped in front of him and looked at him with a playful smile. "I zink ze next thing we work on in ze not being shy," she said, wrapping her hand firmly around his tie, "is zat sometimes, you must just take what it is zat you want." She gave tug on the tie, pulling Richard's face closer. He nearly panicked when her lips met his...all those nightmares of her screaming at the sight of his damaged face rushing to the front of his mind. He turned his face away from her, tried to back away. But she held firmly to his tie.

"Oh non!" she said, tugging it to make him look at her. "You had better be pulling away because you find me hideous and repulsive, and not because you are doubting zis is happening!"

"It's. Not that... When I first...got your letter. I used to. Mm, think that what. Happened between us...was a figment. Of my, mm. Imagination. I would...have these... Waking nightmares. Where we would kiss. Mm but it was me, now. Like this,mm. That you were. Kissing. And when you Mm saw my face. You would...scream... I, mm. Can't remember what. I was like, then..."

"But I do, mon chér," she said softly. "I remember every clearly."

"That's how... I want you to. Mm remember me. Not like this."

"But zis is how you are, mon chér, no matter how much you may wish ozerwise. As a wise young man once told me, if wishes were fishes zen no man would starve. And as I said earlier, ze world must accept you as you are. And zis particular part of ze world," she said, trailing her left hand down his chest while her right hand reached up to gently brush the thick scar above his missing eye, "is very willing to...accept you."

The last two words were said in a seductive whisper. "Unless, of course, you do in fact find me hideous?"

"Oh no ma'am!" he said quickly, suddenly back to being the shy young man she had met in Paris.

One of her eyebrows arched and her mouth turned up in a small smile. Richard realized he had just broken her first rule of not being shy and immediately apologized for it, which of course broke her second rule of not being shy. He flushed, even feeling the heat in his scarred cheek, which he figured meant he was fiercely red.

"Oh mon chér!" she laughed with delight, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You are très doux! Show me zat you will at least listen to my zird rule and perhaps I will forgive you for just now breaking ze first two."

"Are you. Sure this is, mm. What you want?" he asked, polite to the last.

"I am here, non? Must I stand before you au naturale for you to believe me?"

Richard held her eye for a moment then let his gaze wander down the length of her body. "Leave the shoes, mm and stockings," he said at last, a bit surprised at his bold statement. "But. Lose the rest."

"Oui, mon chér," she whispered with a feathery kiss across his lips. She took one step back so Richard could see her better then slowly lifted her camisole up and over her head. She couldn't see him, but she heard Richard inhale sharply as her breasts became exposed. She let the camisole fall to the floor behind her, then slowly removed her panties, kicking them off her foot. They landed somewhere near the desk. She stood in front of Richard, who had taken a seat on his desk because his knees went weak at the sight of her standing nearly nude before him. She was absolutely beautiful with her smooth creamy skin and firm dancer's body. He could stare at her for hours, but she was offering him so much more, and he was bound and determined to follow her advice and take what she gave. Wordlessly he held his hand out to her, beckoning her to him. She closed the distance between them, standing between his legs.

"You will not be shy?" she asked with a tiny smile as she began loosening his tie.

"I'll, mm. Do my best," he said. "But...I might be, mm...no I AM. Nervous."

"Moi, aussi, mon chér," she whispered as she dropped his tie to the floor and began working on his shirt buttons. He was astonished by her admission of nerves, as she was the most confident person he had ever met. But he didn't give it much more thought. He was enjoying the dance of her lips down his neck while she worked him out of his clothes. She would slide each piece off of him and toss it wherever on the floor (except for his gun holster, which she gently set on the desk) then explore the newly exposed skin with her fingers and mouth. She teased his nipples with teeth and tongue while her fingers glided below his navel, gently raking through the thin line of dark hairs that disappeared below his waist band. It was a strange sensation, somewhere between ticklish and arousing, and it made his stomach muscles quiver beneath the skin.

He knew if he let her take her teasing caresses any further he would be able to do nothing more than to toss her onto the bed and take her. Which, while having it's own appeal, wasn't exactly how he wanted this to play out. He wanted to let her reach the pleasure he hadn't been able to give Odette. He wanted to touch and taste her, hear her moan his name if she were so inclined.

So he put his fingers under her chin and drew her face close to his. She looked at him expectantly, the very tip of her tongue darting out between her lips. "If I...do something, mm. That...makes you. Uncomfortable," he said, trying to keep his nervousness in check. "Please tell. Me and, mm I will stop."

"Oui, mon chér," she whispered.

Richard took a deep breath and brought his lips to hers, placing one hand at her waist and drawing her body near. Her skin was warm and smooth under his hands, her lips sweet and questing under his. Attempts to deepen the kiss were thwarted by his mask. He groaned and pulled away, frustrated. The damn thing was just going to get in the way, he knew. He looked Simonne in the eye and said "I would like, mm. To take my mask. Off." She gave a small nod and moved back slightly. "It's not pretty," he warned her.

"Je sais...I know," she whispered.

He gave a small bob of his head then turned to his left, hiding his face while he slowly removed his mask.

"Will you please, mm. Hand me the towel...by the door?" he watched from the corner of his eye as she walked toward the door. It was a delightful view, he mused. She grabbed the towel and turned back around, Richard still watching her as she approached. He felt his pulse quicken, her creamy thighs above the black stockings still heart-stoppingly erotic.

Richard took the towel when she offered it, first rubbing his hair to a drier state, then running it over his face. Ever since that day in the woods when that dog had run off with his mask and saved his life by doing so, the mask hadn't fit completely flush to his face so on rainy days moisture tended to seep between tin and skin causing a clammy unpleasant sensation. He slowly lowered the towel took a deep breath and turned to face Simonne.

She looked at him in much the same way she had at Babette's, eyes darting back and forth from one side of his face to the other. She was silent for a long time as she studied him, but finally she stepped close to him and gently placed her hands on either side of his face.

She traced his face with her fingertips, gently caressing the thick scars on one side and the smooth skin of the other. Her thumbs traced the curve of his lips...he wanted to turn away when her right thumb moved to the gaping hole where the left corner of his mouth used to be but he fought the urge, knowing the truth of her earlier words now and also knowing that if he did turn from her now he might well be turning from her forever.

"I still see him," Simonne said softly as she continued to stroke his face. "Ze young man I met in Paris. He is still here." Those words meant more to Richard than he could ever explain. If she could still see him as he had been then perhaps there was hope for his entire shattered existence.

Yes, Emma had said much the same thing, had treated him as if nothing had changed. But she was his sister, his twin, she had known him through everything and with family it was expected that they love you no matter what. But Simonne...she was a brief moment in his young life, in truth nothing but a stranger. But she had seen something in him in that day that had led her to spend it with him. And here she was in his life again, but fate or by fortune. Maybe the difference between Emma and Simonne, he thought, was that Emma had tried to act as if nothing had changed, while Simonne encouraged him to accept that things had changed but it wasn't his fault nor was it his responsibility to fit into some pre-designated mold the world wanted him to conform to.

They had told him the mask would make it easier to re-integrate into society, but he had long understood that it was more so society would not be shocked and appalled by his appearance. He knew he would never be the young man he would have been had he not joined the army. But did he have to remain as he was now, a man who hid in shadows for fear of offending the delicate sensibilities of the very people he had sacrificed so much for? True, his sense of connection with humanity was still skewed, not exactly non-existent but no where near where he would like it to be. This he knew to be caused by his shyness, compounded by the mess of emotion his injury had left him with.

Understanding slowly came to him. It would take time for him to adjust and he knew it would not be easy. But Simonne was right...

Simonne...

Simonne was still standing in front of him, a small smile on her lips, her hands still on his face. He gave what he could of a smile and said "Hello. World. This, mm. Is me. Richard... Harrow."

Her smile widened, And she replied "_Allo Ree-shard Air-oh_," which still sent delightful shivers through his body. Which reminded him that she was still deliciously naked before him.

Emboldened by her, her earlier words, his recent epiphany and overall his desires, he put his hands on her waist and pulled her against him and resumed kissing her. His nerves were forgotten as he felt the silken skin of her chest against his own. He gently flicked his tongue against her lips. She opened her mouth and met his tongue with her own, twining her fingers into his damp hair. Richard skimmed his hands up her sides, bringing them up to caress and cup her breasts. She moaned into his mouth as his thumbs ran across her nipples. He pulled his mouth from hers to lay kisses along her jaw, down her neck. He could feel her heart speed up under his hand as he brushed his lips along the swell of her breast. Simonne threw her head back as Richard began running his tongue over her nipple, her fingers tight in his hair. She arched her back to give him freer access to her chest, one of his hands behind her back to support her while his other hand began dancing up and down her thigh, starting on the outside of her leg and slowly moving in with each sweep.

Richard was guided by her moans and gasps. He continued to caress her thigh, feeling the strength of the firm muscle beneath her smooth skin. He teasingly moved his hand toward her inner thigh, she moved her legs apart to allow him access to her core. He teased her, lightly brushing his fingers along the edge of her lips, then along the sensitive crease of her thigh, back through the soft thatch of curls that covered her delta. He gently parted her lips, she spread her legs a still further apart.

His fingers glided over her inner fold while his thumb searched for her...

"Oh, mon Dieu!" she gasped as his thumb brushed against that little nub Odette had once assured him was a very good thing.

Simonne felt every nerve in her body sing as his thumb first brushed against her. She gasped something and tilted Richard's head up so she could kiss him. She lifted her leg, resting her knee on the desk, next to his thigh. When he slowly circled her opening with his fingertip, she couldn't stop her hips from moving forward. She held his face in her hands, conveying her passion with her lips and tongue. He responded in kind, the fingers of his hand that was still resting on her back kneading her skin, pressing her still harder against him. He slowly slid his middle finger inside of her, causing her to inhale sharply into his mouth which seemed to somewhat pull the air from him, even in spite of his torn cheek.

It got to the point where she didn't know whether to scream, grunt, groan, praise God, or what...she could only settle on breathing heavily against his lips, too aroused to even think to kiss him. He would alternate gently sliding his finger in and out of her with soft careful circles on her little _bouton de bonheur. _It wasn't long before her hips were rocking of their own volition, small cries of pleasure making their way from her throat. The leg that was still on the ground was trembling too badly to support her, and most of her weight was on Richard. At some point she moved her mouth from his, to his neck, and began sucking on a spot just down from his ear, her cries of pleasure were muffled by his throat, and they echoed through his skin.

He wished he could see her face, he would love to see the expression on it as she peaked. But she was currently busy sucking on the left side of his neck, and therefore in his blind spot. He also wished she would find a different spot to suck on, as the current spot was started to get very tender.

One of her hands was still twined in his hair, but the other blindly groped it's way down Richard's arm until she pressed it against the back of his hand, pressing it harder against her, grinding her hips as a low, almost animalistic groan sounded in her throat. He could feel her entire body tense for a moment, then shudder slightly before she nearly collapsed on top of him.

It took her a moment to come back to herself, so shaken was she with pleasure. When she was finally able to remember basic things like her name and how to open her eyes, she disengaged her mouth from Richard's neck and straightened to look him in the eye. The expression on his face was a mixture of amusement and lust.

The lust she could easily explain. The amusement, she assumed, came from the wanton abandonment with which she had just gripped his hand and ridden it to pleasure. Try as she might, she couldn't keep the color from creeping into her cheeks. The twinkle in his eye and the smile on his lips didn't help matters.

She lowered her leg from the desk and gracefully sank to her knees. Richard watched her keenly, anticipation building as she began undoing his pants. He couldn't quite decide what to make of the expression on her face as his manhood was exposed to her view. She sank lower to pull of his shoes and socks and slid his pants the rest of the way off, her eyes never once leaving his manhood.

Finally, growing self-conscious, Richard asked "Is there. Mm. Something wrong...with it?"

"I do not zink so," she said, a note of wonder in her voice. "But I have never seen one before. Hmm," she mused, running a teasing finger along it. "It reminds me of la Tour Eiffel."

Richard wasn't sure if that was a compliment, but he was truly more concerned with the first part of that statement.

"What do you..." He found it very hard to concentrate while she was caressing him like she was. "What. Do you, mm. Mean. You've...never seen. One before?"

She circled his tip with her finger, vastly amused by the reflexive bob this caused.

"What do you zink it means, mon chér?" she asked. Her warm breath blew across him, arousing him further.

"You're a, mm...virg...oooh."

Her tongue flicked out quickly, then her lips made contact. Richard could not finish his thought.

She slowly took him into her mouth, causing him to completely lose his train of thought. Her ministrations were inexperienced, but still quite delightful. Richard gripped the edge of the desk, completely lost in the...

"Ow. Watch,mm. Your teeth," he said. She mumbled something around him and carefully went back to what she was doing. She didn't think she had been at too long when Richard said stop.

"I am doing it wrong?" she asked with a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"No," Richard said. "You were. Mm, doing it. Right. Very, mm. Right." He had to picture a freezing cold morning on the farm to pull him back from the edge she had worked him too. She wasn't Odette, well versed in a body's reactions to know when to switch things up or back away entirely. Which reminded him of something...

"You're a. Mm. A virgin?" She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip and showing an uncertainty that Richard had never seen and could never have imagined from her. "But. The dress. Mm and the...stripping, and. Mm...everything...none of, mm. That, was...virginal."

" Ze girls in ze ballet, zey talk all ze time of how zey seduced zis man or zat. Also, I read a lot. Books zat no proper young woman of my age or station should be reading," she said with a wicked little grin.

"Why. Mm, didn't you... say anything. Sooner?"

"I zought you knew. When you said zat I should say stop if you did anyzing I found uncomfortable."

Richard had meant it as in if she found anything uncomfortable about him, specifically, touching her, but he could see how she might misconstrue it, and he wasn't going to correct her at this point. He slid off the desk and knelt on the floor beside her. She folded her hands in her lap and twisted them nervously. She tried to hold his gaze, but couldn't, and glanced away. Richard gently placed his finger under her chin and turned her face back to him.

"Why. Me?" he asked softly. Her eyes widened, and then quickly darkened with anger.

"Incroyable!" she said, standing up quickly and walking to the spot she had dropped her dress. "Vous avez manifestement pas écouté un mot je l'ai dit!" She picked her dress up, opened the door and walked out, throwing her dress on while she walked down the hall, a string of angry French pouring out of her as she walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: For this not being a chapter story, it's becoming a chapter story. That said, this is just a short one, because it doesn't quite flow into the next scene naturally. **

Richard was dumbfounded.

All he had wanted to know was, out of all the men she could have given her virginity to over the years, why had she decided on him? And it wasn't even in a 'woe is me' moment as Simonne called them. He was genuinely curious. She had to know dozens of worldly, debonair gentleman who would hand her the world on a silver platter. So why the shy, gawking farm boy? What was it about him that would make her give such a precious thing to him?

He groaned and hurried to get dressed so he could go after her, try to right things. His pants were nearby, his shirt was closer to the bed, one of his shoes seemed to be missing...no, there it was under the dresser. He grabbed his gun and just put it into his pocket, and put his mask on as he ran out the door behind her.

He got to the street and looked left and right, but there was no sign of her. It was still raining at a steady rate, although the thunder had long moved on. He took a guess and went left, back in the direction of the boardwalk. He was quickly soaked to the skin, and just why hadn't he taken two extra seconds to put his socks on?

Between the rain and the late hour, the streets were nearly empty, although there were a few people about. In Atlantic City, there always were. Richard glanced at everyone, making sure none of them was Simonne. If anyone glanced at him, they quickly glanced away. He probably cut a frightful figure with his half-tucked shirt, mussed hair, and of course the mask. He didn't particularly care.

He peered down a dark alley as he passed, but saw nothing of interest, so he continued on. But a sound from there caught his ear, and he paused.

There it was again. It sounded like...

Richard turned back and ran down the alley. He followed the sounds of a struggle, finding two men and Simonne deep in the shadows. One man had clamped his hand over her mouth, the other was tearing at her dress.

Richard didn't hesitate. He pulled his gun from his pocket and aimed. The first bullet went through the back of the head of the man tearing at Simonne's dress. Blood and brains splattered and he collapsed in a heap. The second man shoved Simonne towards Richard and turned to run. The bullet caught him in the throat. He fell to the ground, his last few breaths nothing but frothy choking gurgles.

Simonne looked from the dead men laying on the ground to Richard, her eyes wide with fear and shock, rain washing the blood from her face.

"This. Is me," Richard said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "I, mm. Don't think you...can take me. For, mm. Who I am."

Simonne did her best to wrap the ruins of her dress around her as her body started to tremble.

"You. Asked earlier, mm. If I. Was a good man. I. Should have, mm. Said no. Adieu, ma'am." With that, he turned and walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Long...mature content. **

Simonne made it back to the hotel without incident, although she couldn't shake the feeling she was being followed. Whenever she looked back however, she saw no one.

She had no trouble getting into her room, for despite the late hour neither of her roommates were in yet. She drew a hot bath, and while the tub filled she disrobed. The ruins of her dress were tossed in the waste basket. She sat on the toilet and removed her shoes and stocking. It was while she was holding those stockings that Richard had seemed so enamored with that the moment when he had asked 'why me' flashed through her mind. And she realized, when he was uttering those words, the look on his face had been one of shy, honest wonder, much like the look on his face had been when she had found him outside of the Opera house.

But she had realized this too late. He had said 'Adieu' and walked away. And she couldn't blame him. He had been right when he said he didn't think she could take him as he was. All she had done since she first spoke to him was try to turn him into the boy she had known, as if she had no regard for the man circumstances had made him.

She spent the next six days deep in self-loathing misery. How could she be so stupid as to walk away from one of the few truly kind people she had ever met?

She had long ago concluded that most people had an agenda they were working towards, and so altered their personality accordingly. But not Richard. He was straightforward, honest, polite, and that was how he _truly_ was. She had noticed it in Paris, and that was what had made her come so close to asking him home with her. And even here in Atlantic City, once she had managed to somewhat draw him from the darkness he'd been in for so long, she found that he really hadn't changed. Deep down was still the gentle kind man she knew him to be.

The night before they were to depart for New York, a bon voyage dinner was once again held for them at Babette's. Simonne didn't particularly want to go, but she was more or less ordered to. As soon as she was able to break away from the crowd, she went upstairs and found a shadowy corner to hide in. She would try to slip away from the party all together before too long. Supposedly misery loved company, but she wanted nothing more than to be alone.

"The, mm. Beautiful ballerina can't... Enjoy. The party, mm. Alone."

Simonne startled, and turned. So deep into her misery, she hadn't noticed him approach. He stood on her right and gazed out over the crowd below. All she could see was his mask. She wanted to say something, but what could she say? So they stood in silence for some time, both lost in thought. It was finally Richard who broke the silence.

"You're, mm. Alright. After the...alley?"

"Oui."

Another long pause.

"You leave, mm. Tomorrow?"

"Oui."

Richard turned so he could see her. She was looking down at the crowd below, but not really seeing it. There were dark circles under her eyes, her shoulders were stooped, and she looked almost vulnerable.

He wondered if that was how he had looked to her when she first came upon him. If so, no wonder she had worked so hard to draw him out. It was awfully depressing.

Simonne finally spoke.

"I am sorry," she said quietly. "I...I should not have tried to...to make you to be what you perhaps no longer want to be."

"I don't. Mm, understand," he said.

"You said zat you did not zink I could accept you, ze way zat you are. And...you were right. I have been trying to make you ze man you were in Paris...and, I...I guess zat, it seemed like I could not accept you."

"That actually. Mm, isn't...what I meant. By that," Richard said. "If you, mm. Knew, what I do. You probably. Wouldn't, mm, like me. And," he added, "I'm, mm. Not saying that. Out of...'woe is me'."

Simonne nodded slowly, but she still could not look at him.

"I don't mind, mm. That you. Drew me out. I, mm. Appreciate it, in fact. It,mm. Made me remember that. I enjoy life. You were...right, you know. Sometimes, mm. I don't...like myself. I think. That's, mm. How you feel. Right now."

She nodded again. "I should not have said some of ze zings I said. I should not have run off. I..." she paused, then said "Why you? Because you are gentle, and kind. You have a true sense of decency about you. You are honest, and you do not say ze first thing you happen to zink of...you give serious zought to zings. You...you do not treat me like I am some prize to be won, or somezing to be conquered. When we talk, it is zat you actually listen to what I say." She lowered her head, admitting how wrong she had been. Richard cupped her chin in his hand and turned her to face him. There was smile on his face, and it was a smile that sparkled in his eye.

"As long, mm. As it's not just. For my, mm. Devastatingly handsome. Looks," he said, and in spite of herself, Simonne laughed, although she quickly stifled it, covering her mouth with her hand. Richard pulled her hand away and gently pulled her closer to him.

"You were, mm. Supposed to laugh," he chided. But when she looked at him, he could see in her eyes that there was something else on her mind. "Tell me."

"Why did you say adieu?" she asked. "Why did you walk away?"

"I, mm. Followed you. To the hotel. You...kept looking. But, mm, never saw me. I had...to make sure. You, mm. Were safe. I...I said. What I did because, mm. I didn't want, mm. You to see. What I, mm. Am like. After, mm, I...um. Work. If I, mm. Said anything else. You probably. Would have...followed me. And thrown, mm. A shoe at me. I didn't, mm. Mean it." He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Or, maybe I did. At, mm. That moment. I...am. Mm, not...normal. After I, mm. Work. But, I...like the way. You make me. Feel, mm. And I. Couldn't bear the thought. Of, mm, never seeing you again. At least, not...mm, on those terms. Will you, mm. Please forgive me. My. Stupidity."

Simonne was rather overwhelmed by everything. From thinking she would never see him again to having him so achingly close, asking her forgiveness.

"For your, 'work'," she said, placing the same emphasis on the word that he had. "You...kill people?"

Richard nodded and removed his hand from her face, waited for her to walk away, appalled. She gave a small 'ah' and stood there with a thoughtful look on her face.

"You're, mm. Not as. Disturbed by this...as I, mm. Though you would be, mm."

"Non? Ah, well, disturbed is not exactly ze reaction zat I am having." In fact, she was fairly certain a psychiatrist would lock her away based on the reaction she was having. She gave herself a small shake, then looked back at him.

"I will forgive you your stupidity, if you forgive me mine," she said. "I...I..." she stammered, looking for the words to express herself. She looked at Richard helplessly when she realized she could not find them.

"What happened, mm. To not apologizing, about, mm. Things that. Don't need, apologizing. For?" he asked softly just before he brought his lips to hers. At first she was surprised, but it only lasted a moment. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. It wasn't a deep kiss, but it held a note of the innocence of their first kiss, and a hint of the passion from the other night. And it might have lasted forever, that kiss, had they not been interrupted by _'Simonne? Et le Fantom?' _and a ridiculous amount of giggling. Simonne pulled her lips from Richard's and glared at the ballerina who had interrupted them. Simonne snarled something in rapid French, Richard didn't know what, but her words, or her tone of voice, or the fact that she brushed Richard's jacket back just enough to offer a glimpse of his gun had the other girl scurrying away.

"What, mm. Did you. Say to...her?" he asked, noting the odd glimmer in Simonne's eyes.

"I told her zat if she did not shut her mouth and go away, my dear noble Phantom would shot her."

She pressed her body against his and passionately kissed him. Richard wondered fleetingly if she was aroused by the thought of...

"Do you want to come back to my room with me?" she whispered against his lips, her fingers running through the hair on the back of his neck.

"I. Mm, want to. Yes," he managed to say. He thought the answer would be fairly obvious. Given how she was pressed against him, he was surprised she had to ask.

"And if I promise to keep my mouth shut, to not say a single zing, will you?"

"There are. Mm, some things it. Might be hard, mm. To do with...your mouth closed," he said, letting his lust speak. "And. There are, mm. Some things. I wouldn't...mind hearing. You say."

A wicked little grin turned up the corners of her mouth as she looped her arm through his and began walking towards the door. "Oh, vraiment? And what zings would you not mind hearing me say, mon chér?"

"That's, mm. One of them," he said. "Actually. I like. Mm, just listening. To you talk. Mm, it's..."

"Constant?"

"I was. Mm, going to say. Delightful. But. Constant. Mm, works too." He smiled at her as they left Babette's and turned towards her hotel. "The. Way you, mm. Roll from one. Topic, to another. The, mm. Way you sometimes. Lapse, mm. Into French. The things, mm. You talk about. You have...so much. Insight, and mm, your thoughts on things. Are fascinating."

"Do you really zink so?"

"I do. Otherwise, mm. I wouldn't...say it."

"Merci, mon chér," she said, color creeping into her cheeks.

They walked quickly to the hotel, anticipation warring with nerves inside both of them. The elevator seemed to lift with excruciating slowness, the walk down the hall seemed endless. Finally they reached her door, and she opened it. Before she shut the door behind them, she tied a white ribbon to the doorknob.

"Zat is so ze ozer girls in ze room know zat, ah...ze room is taken," Simonne explained when she noticed Richard's raised eyebrow. She leaned against the door for a moment, took a deep breath, hoping the flutter in her stomach would calm.

Richard reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, a small, sweet smile on his lips.

"You told, mm. Me the other night, that. Mm, sometimes I need to...take. What I want. But, I will. Mm, only take, what you...are willing to, mm. Give me."

"Sur cette nuit," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Tout ce que je suis est le vôtre"

_I have really got to learn French, _he thought as Simonne led him to her bed.

"Do you remember. The, mm. Other night, when. You asked...why I. Was, mm. Smiling?" he asked. Simonne nodded. "I admit. My mind had. Mm, turned to. Something...like this." He kissed her again, sweet and tenderly, as his hands moved to the back of her dress.

In his mind, this had gone smoothly, her dress had all but melted away from her body under his hands. Reality, however, gave him a zipper that he could not get undone. He looked over her shoulder, hoping that actually seeing what he was doing would make things easier. It didn't. Simonne reached up behind her back and tried to undo it herself.

"Is ze fabric caught in it?" she asked, turning her back to Richard.

"Yes," he said, trying to work it free. "And, mm. It's not. Budging. I don't. Want to. Mm, ruin it."

"I could not care less at zis moment," she said. "Tear it if you must."

Richard hesitated, afraid that tearing her dress might remind her of the alley, but when she looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes wide with desire, cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted, he gripped the fabric in his hands and tore.

Simonne gave a small gasp as the fabric parted. Richard brushed the dress from her shoulders, then laid gentle kisses down her neck, across the creamy skin of her shoulders while his hands roamed the front of her body, over her ribcage, up to cup her breasts. She brought one arm up, twining her fingers in his hair as his teeth gently grazed her skin. She felt the light scraping of stubble on his chin, the soft tickley brush of his mustache, his breath softly breezing over her skin. She turned in his arms and began undressing him, his jacket falling to the ground, followed by his tie. She ran her hands along the shoulder straps of his holster before she slid it off of him and set it down carefully on her nightstand.

When she turned back around, Richard took the opportunity to work her out of the remainder of her clothing, which was nothing more than a thigh length shift and a pair of panties. He was fairly certain their was nothing more beautiful in the world than her, right at that moment.

Although her hands were trembling, she quickly divested Richard of the rest of his clothes. She tentatively reached up to his mask, but pulled her hands away.

"I am afraid of breaking it," she said. "It is so delicate. How did ze glass become cracked?"

"You, mm. Would get mad. If I told...you," he said as he removed it and set it on her nightstand next to his gun. "And, mm. I don't...want you. Mad."

She nodded, stepped close to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him once more. Richard reveled in the feel of her against him, his desire building with each brush of her skin on his. He needed to keep it in check though. He was quite mindful of her virginal state, and terribly afraid of hurting her more than necessary if he let lust take control.

He pulled his lips from hers and whispered for her to lay down on the bed. When she did, he let his eyes roam over her, drinking in the sight of her. He laid down beside her, running his hands over her stomach, ribs, breasts, up her neck, along her jaw.

She closed her eyes to better concentrate on the sensation of his touch. It seemed that, where ever his fingers skimmed, the nerves beneath awoke in a way they never had before. She felt her body arch into his touch. When his lips began dancing over her skin, a low moan came from deep in her throat. Nervousness soon gave way to absolute yearning.

He moved his body to cover hers, and she thought that finally, something she had dreamed about for so long would come true, but he wasn't quite ready for that yet. He took one nipple into his mouth while his hand caressed her other breast. She could feel his heart beat, the pulse sat against her tiny nerve bundle and set it to throbbing.

"Mon chér," she said, her voice made husky with desire. "Zat zing you did to me, ze ozer night...with your hand...s'il vous plait...would you do zat to me again?"

But it was not his hands that he used. He explored her with lips and tongue, shyly and inexpertly at first, the tentative touches heightening her arousal. His ministrations grew bolder, and soon her hips were undulating of their own accord. Her fingers twined themselves into his hair, she could feel it building inside of her, so much more intense that she could have imagined possible. And when she finally peaked, it was as if every nerve in her body exploded. A small gasp gave from her throat, Richard heard a note of awed wonder in it.

He slowly kissed his way back up her body, teasing tingling nerves, offering the promise of more pleasure. Supporting his weight on his arms, he gazed down at her. She was breathing deeply, her cheeks flushed, eyes slightly glazed, a wonder-filled smile on her face. And to think, _he _was the one responsible. Him, Richard Harrow. The Tin Woodsman. Frankenstein. The man who had no issue what-so-ever with taking a life...he had put that beautiful, joy filled expression on her face.

"Do you always look so smug after you make a woman feel so wonderful, mon chér?" she asked.

"Mm, yes," he answered. It was nothing less than the truth.

"As well you should. Zat was incroyable, mon chér." She leaned up slightly and kissed him, although she backed off quickly and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. Richard understood...she wasn't as fond of the taste of herself as he was, so he wiped his mouth as best he could, scraped his tongue along his teeth to clean it. He truly hoped to kiss her while they made love.

"Are you. Mm, still sure. About this?" he asked quietly.

"Oui, mon chér," she all but whispered, minutely adjusting her hips below him.

Their eyes locked, she took him in hand, lined him up at her opening, gave a small nod, and braced herself. He slowly pushed into her, watching her face carefully. When she winced, he stopped, waiting for her to indicate she was ready for more of him.

It was not as bad as Simonne had feared, in fact the pain was one that seemed to say 'it will be worth it...just wait' for there was a small spark of pleasure hidden beneath. But it was still uncomfortable, and she was so grateful to Richard for taking it slow. When he was fully inside of her, he gave her time to adjust. After a moment, Simonne wrapped her arms around Richard's neck and pulled him down to cover her body. Richard began moving in and out of her, slowly, for her sake and his own. He well recalled Odette's words: Savor it. He truly planned to. This would be a memory he would keep in the scrapbook of his mind.

The more Richard moved, the less painful it became for Simonne, until eventually she was left with nothing but pleasure. There was a warm tightness building in her lower stomach that seemed to grow each time Richard pushed into her. She began sucking on his neck, and Richard stopped moving.

"Please, mm. Do not leave. Me with, mm. Another one. Of these," he said, turning his head and pointing to the just-starting-to-fade sucker bite she had given him a week ago.

"Oops," she said, sounding completely unapologetic. He realized it was impossible to get mad at a woman who could smile such a sweet, mischievous smile, especially when completely nestled inside of her. Simonne nudged her hips upward, drawing Richard back to what he was doing. He still moved slowly, but now Simonne was moving her hips to meet him, easily matching his pace. He gently brought his lips to hers, but let her deepen the kiss, in case he still tasted like her. If he did, she didn't mind. Tongues flitted against each other in the same slow even rhythm that their bodies moved in, breathing matched, small moans of pleasure telling each what the other was feeling. They found the perfect pace, hands trailed along skin, causing goosebumps of pleasure, passion building in them both...

...when the door open.

"Mon dieu! N'avez-vous pas voir le ruban?" Simonne snapped as one of her roommates barged in.

"Oui. Mais je ne pense pas que vous ont..." The woman trailed off and looked closely at Richard. "Monsieur, you are missing an eye!"

Richard looked at Simonne from his good eye. She could see a odd twinkle in it. "You said. Mm, it wasn't. Noticeable," he said to her in a dead-pan voice.

"Simonne!" the woman said, shocked. "How can you say zat is not noticeable?" Her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. "Mon dieu, did you not see ze hole in his cheek?"

Simonne looked up at Richard and shook her head. "And you," she said to him, "said my roommates could not possibly be as stupid as I made zem sound."

"I guess, mm. We were. Both wrong."

"Oui, mon chér. Yvette, go away," Simonne said.

"Mais...j'ai un homme avec moi..."

"Oui, et j'ai un homme _en _moi. Allez!'

"Mais..."

"I could, mm. Just shoot her," Richard suggested.

"Would you, mon chér?" Richard and Simonne both looked at Yvette, standing in the door. Yvette did not like the look in their eyes, she thought they were giving too much consideration to shooting her, so she quickly left the room.

Both Simonne and Richard couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

"Now, where were we, mon chér?"

"I think. It,mm. Was right. About...here," he said as he slid into her as far as he could. Her eyelids fluttered as he brushed against that spot deep inside of her that felt so wonderful. It didn't take them long to find their rhythm again. Nor did it didn't take long for Simonne to latch onto his neck again. When the spot she was sucking on started to grow tender, Richard stopped his movement. Simonne kept going until Richard went "Ahem?"

"Oui mon chér?" she replied, moving her mouth to a slightly lower spot on his neck.

"You seem, mm. To be drawing. All of the blood. In my body,mm. To my neck. Didn't I. Say please. Mm when I asked you...not to give me. Another one of those."

"But I did not give you one...zere is Un, duex, trois, quatre, cinq..." Five? Richard thought. He hadn't even realized three of them. "You were not minding while I was doing it," she said. "Alzough perhaps your mind was on ozer zings?" she added with a delightful twitch of her hips. Richard tried to give her a dissaproving look, but failed. Again, so hard to be mad when she smiled just so. He couldn't reciprocate, his wound didn't allow him to create suction. However, he could...

"Mon chér?" she said when she saw the mischievous glimmer in his eye and the small, wicked smile on his lips. Before she could say anything else, Richard began tickling her ribs. She started to squirm (quite nicely as far as Richard was concerned) and laugh. Simonne did the only thing she could do. She tickled back. Richard tried to withstand it but could only take so much before he had to capture her hands. He pinned them gently above her head, slowly slid himself back into her, holding her eyes as he did so.

"Are you. Mm going to. Behave?"

"If I do not?" she grinned.

"Then I'll. Mm just leave." he threatened. Simonne would have none of that. She wrapped her legs around his hips and held him firmly in place. "You were saying, mon chér?"

"Oh,mm. Well. If you. Mm, insist."

Playfulness diminished as passion resurfaced. Simonne kept her legs around his hips,allowing him deeper access as well as allowing his lower stomach to press against her little button. Their hands intertwined above her head, lips met and breath mingled. Their pace was steady if a bit more urgent than before.

Richard knew to savor it.

Simonne knew that Richard was making her feel more wonderful with each passing moment. That warm tightness in her stomach seemed to be spreading while at the same time it grew more concentrated at her core. She wasn't sure if she should reach for it...didn't know if she could. She was an old hand at self-pleasure but she had certainly never experience anything like this.

She seemed to become aware of even the minutest detail, as if every nerve in her body was sending its message to her brain. She began to moan into his mouth, her fingers tightened around his, he could feel the muscles in her thighs trembling against his hips. The sensation grew inside of her, compounded by each thrust, each breath, each heartbeat, until it could grow no more and it burst. It wasn't an eruption like her earlier climax...it was more like a rose rapidly blooming, the beauty of it unfolding in velvety waves. None the less, it left her body quaking in it's aftermath.

Richard held still as Simonne shuddered around him. She slowly opened her eyes, had to blink a few times to focus, the smile that spread across her face was serene.

"Ah, mon chér," she whispered. Her voice sounded amazed. "I can not describe how wonderful I am feeling at zis moment."

Richard freed one of his hands and wiped a sweat-dampened curl from her forehead. "I'm, mm. Glad," he said softly. "Are, mm. You...um...able to. Go a, mm. Few more. Minutes?" he asked delicately.

"Mon chér, I could go all night."

"I wish, mm. I could say the. Same," he said with a small chuckle.

"Take as long as you like, mon chér," she said, unwrapping her legs from his hips and stretching them out alongside his.

"Are you, mm. Alright? Not too, mm. Sore?"

"Oui, mon chér, I am fine."

"I'm not. Too heavy, mm. Am I? Are you, mm. Comfortable?"

"You are not too heavy, and I am comfortable, mon chér," she assured him. "Is zere somezing I can do zat will make you...ah...enjoy it more?"

"No, mm. Just...oh, keep. Doing that."

Simonne had started moving her hips under him, and Richard began to move with her. He felt her subtly adapt her pace to his. He closed his eye and let the sensations flood over him, the feel of her skin against his, the sound of her breathing, the feel of her lips along his neck.

"Behave," he said playful.

"Oui, _Ree-shard," _she breathed into his ear. She wrapped her arms around him, and whispered "Oh, _Ree-shard..._Je vous remercie beaucoup d'être avec moi cette nuit. Je pense que... je pourrais facilement tomber en amour avec vous, à un moment donné."

He didn't know what she said, of course, but the sound of her voice, the breath in his ear, his name from her lips, the feel of her under him, around him, the way she lifted her hips to take him into her...it built inside of him, bringing him to that wonderful edge. He teetered there for a moment, debated taking a step back, to make this evening last as long as possible...but he was too far gone. With one last thrust, he spilled inside of her, an ecstatic cry breaking past his lips.

He stayed where he was a for a moment, his entire body tingling, trying to catch his breath. He slowly shifted to support his weight on his elbow, and gazed down at Simonne.

"Ah, mon chér...merci. Zis had been...magnifique."

"It has, mm. Thank you." He softly kissed her, slowly sliding out of her.

"Will you stay ze night, mon chér? Please?"

Richard nodded, he would love nothing more. He moved his body so he was laying beside her, smiling as she tucked herself against him, her head just under his chin, face against his chest, one arm and one leg wrapped around him. And so they discovered the quite joy of post-coital cuddling, the security of sleeping in the arms of someone kind and gentle. It would be hard, come morning, to say good-bye. But each knew that it would be an au revoir, not an adieu, willing to trust in fate or fortune to bring them together again someday.


End file.
